The Deafening Silence
by Juliane
Summary: Sirius returns to Remus after the Triwizard Tournament, but things aren't meant to be. So what choice is left for a werewolf without his mate?
1. One

  
**Title:** The Deafening Silence  
**Author:** Juliane  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Pairings:** Remus/Sirius  
**Disclaimer:** JKR owns the characters, though I hope she never does anything like this to them...this is awfully sad.  
**Author's Notes:** **Warning! There is character death in this fic.** Okay, with that out of the way, this is another one of those 'lie low at Lupin's' fics, told from Remus's POV, only without the usual happy endings. This is chock full of angsty goodness. This is also part one of three.  
**Dedication:** To the one whose face I see in Erised, even though you will never read this. Break the silence, lover.  
We open the door and we have no words for each other. I have been expecting him for some time now - Dumbledore had the courtesy to owl me before his arrival, informing me of the tasks set before him. It just took him longer than I expected to make his way to my humble abode, tucked far away in the middle of the nondescript woods, safe from prying eyes or narrow minds.  
He looks atrocious, much as he did a year ago when I finally met him again in the Shrieking Shack at the end of my all-too-brief employment at Hogwarts. His robes are threadbare, his eyes and hair are wild, and he wears no shoes. He does not seem to have gained back any of the weight he lost during his imprisonment.  
And I remember with heartbreakingly vivid clarity a time when he was tall and strong, broad-shouldered, with thick black hair that made him the picture of rebelliousness when he rode his motorbike. I remember when I was the sickly, scrawny one - those days when I first arrived at Hogwarts, I was the poster child for neglected prepubescent lycanthropes. Not that anyone really cared about neglected prepubescent lycanthropes, other than my three best friends.   
He is looking at his bare feet. His face is full of the same shame and guilt and muted rage that I saw in the Shrieking Shack, until he finally looks up at me. I look into the eyes I once knew so well, the eyes that I once said looked best when they were an inch above my own and glazed over with desire, and I know that we need no words. I open the door fully and we fall into each other's arms.  
It is awkward, at first - awkward, and somehow tender. I smell the years of dirt and sweat and terror upon him, but underneath it is the scent that will eternally conjure up images of first love and starlit strolls and long days of lying in bed, making love. It is Sirius's scent, one that I always loved, one that for twelve long years would periodically haunt me - every few years I would be walking down a street somewhere and I would smell him, or think I smelled him, and the world would cave in on me and I would have to duck into a pub somewhere and sit down so I didn't cry or faint or die.  
"Sirius," I whisper, holding his fragile body in my arms with a tempered gentleness, a genuine concern, that I rarely felt during the years we were lovers. He was the strong one then. "You came."  
"Remus," he replies, his voice a ragged breath. He is the first to step back, balancing on his dirty feet on the doorframe. "If it's - I mean, Dumbledore -"  
"Please stay," I say immediately. There is such a relief in his eyes that I cannot resist touching him, putting out my hands once again to lightly grip his thin arms. As if I am afraid he will run away, leave me again...  
"Thanks...thanks, Remus." He is weaker than the last time I saw him, which was over a year ago. I wish I could have been with him after that night in Hogsmeade, wish I could have restored him to his former being - to the achingly handsome man I fell in love with. It must have been the fury at Peter, the passion with which he kept his oath to Lily and James, that had animated him so that night. He is a mere shadow of that now.  
"Come inside," I instruct him, pulling him gently in through the door and closing it behind him. I finally let go of him, because the awkward sense pervading my kitchen is now rolling over me as well. "What do you need? Food? Sleep? ...A bath?"  
Our eyes meet and we both acknowledge the humor, minimal though it is. His eyes are silver; mine are gold. We had always remarked that that was funny, considering the rest of him was bright and golden like the sun, and the rest of me was pale and silver like the moon. We had said it connected us - that we completed each other.  
"Food would be good," he says, and slowly lowers himself into one of the two chairs around my tiny kitchen table. This act of sitting makes him look so old, so tired. "Thanks," he adds again.  
"Sirius," I say, looking him directly in his silver eyes, so he knows I mean it. "It's nothing. It's no more than what you would do for me."  
He nods, and while I make tea and sandwiches as though I am his mother and not his ex-lover, I ask him where he has been, what he has been doing, how Harry is recovering after the Triwizard Tournament. It is short, rather tense conversation at first, but gradually we lapse into our old habits - the way we spoke to each other, the tones of voice we used, the expressions of speech we had retained since boyhood.   
"Whom did you visit after the Tournament?"  
"Who didn't I visit, is more like it. Mundungus Fletcher...Arabella Figg...Lane Levine...Tatiana Shiresong... The Weasleys are in. So is Snape." This last remark is delivered in a tone of absolute disgust.  
"So Dumbledore said. He is on our side now, Sirius."  
"That doesn't mean I have to like him."  
I have to smile at this remark - the quintessential Sirius. 'I may be down, but I'm not _that_ down.' I say lightly, "Of course not."  
"Don't patronize me."  
"I'm not patronizing you."  
Awkward pause. We had always equated being patronizing with taking the condescending, paternal attitude towards someone. When did I become paternal? Both of us grew up hating our fathers. "Sorry," I murmur, and he returns, "No, I'm sorry."   
I set the sandwiches and tea before him, and join him at the table. I cannot take my eyes off him. I am making a list in my mind of the things he will need, things I will be able to do for him. He needs robes, a wand, toiletries, a comprehensive review of spells and our training from the Order of the Phoenix. While I think, he devours three of the sandwiches and takes two cups of tea.   
"Better?" I ask with a smile.  
He treats me to a remembrance of his old grin. "Much," he answers, still remaining stiff and rather hunched over in the chair.  
"How long have you been traveling?"  
He still chews on his bottom lip while thinking - old habits die hard. He pins the lip between his teeth, much like I have done with that lip many, many times before. After a minute of retrospection, he replies, "Probably two...maybe three weeks. Yeah, three." Suddenly he looks up at me with those silver eyes. "I'm tired, Remus."  
"It is rather late. Would you like to sleep?"  
"No." Is that..._fear_ I hear in his voice?  
So I indulge him, and ask him another question. "How is Harry, Sirius? Dumbledore told me about the Tournament..."  
"He's - he's alright. I just...wish I had done more for him." And he looks away from me, his eyes pointed towards the ancient linoleum floor but not really seeing it. "I feel like I failed him, Remus. Just like Lily and James-"  
"Stop it," I say, as his voice begins to crack. "Stop, Sirius. You never failed them. Or if you did, then we all did. And you haven't failed Harry, either. He's safe, isn't he? He's alive."  
"But all those years - Lily and James trusted me to take care of him, when they were gone..."  
I reach across the table and grip one of his hands in both of mine. "Sirius," I say, and he looks at me. We hold the gaze for long minutes, simply sitting there, looking at each other after all these years. I wonder if I have changed as much as he has - if it is possible to change as much as he has, and still have shreds of the same person left within.  
I wish I were a mind reader, or a telepathic. I wish I could tell him about all the injustices in the world that happened to us, all the terrible things that tore us apart in the prime of our love. I would tell him about a world that was so heartless, it would murder beautiful people like the Potters and place their innocent, orphaned son first in the clutches of Voldemort, then with fiendish Muggles. And I would tell him that at one time, when we were strong and young and brave and in love, we would have made love, and in that love we would have found the strength to continue and fight to reform such a heartless world. But now all I can do is stare into the fathomless silver eyes of the man I once loved.   
The man I still loved?  
Finally, I smile faintly at him. "You should go to bed," I murmur, and stand up, keeping hold of his hand to help him to his feet.  
And he is in my arms again, clutching my robe, holding me so tightly that I am almost surprised. There are no tears, no lamentations, no wails about the injustices committed, only a kind of sad, exhausted desperation in his embrace. I let him stand there as long as he wants. I lay one hand gently on his back, I thread the other through his unwashed hair, and I hold him as I have longed to do so for these many years.  
At last he lets go and takes a deep, steadying breath, and lets me lead him to the bedroom. "You can sleep in here," I tell him softly, using my wand to light the candles around the room. The bed is made up perfectly; my clothes are tucked into their drawers. I will sleep on the couch.  
"No, it's your bedroom, Remus," he protests, trying to walk past me, but I stop him effortlessly with my hand.  
"No, it's where you're going to sleep. I'll take the couch."  
"Don't leave me?" he whispers imploringly. And when he looks at me with such childlike pleading - not innocence, far from it, but honest pleading - I forget that he is my age and taller than me and was once my protector. He is so very fragile, and I have wanted to comfort him, to love him, for a year...truthfully, for more than a year. For all the years since I met him, when we were first years on the Hogwarts Express and James Potter introduced us.  
"Of course I won't leave," I reply, and I step to the bed and turn down the covers. "Let me lock up, I'll be right back."  
I go around the few rooms of the dismally small house, methodically charming the windows and doors as I do every night. Only tonight, it is even more important that I do so - tonight, I am harboring a fugitive, a fugitive whom it is imperative that I protect. I must protect him for Dumbledore - for Harry - for the memory of Lily and James - for myself.  
When I return to the bedroom, he is perched on the edge of the bed - on the right side, I note, that was always his side - as if he is unsure that I really want him to sleep there. I come in the door and smile questioningly, then I recall that he has no clothes of his own - nothing except that one dirty robe. "Pajamas," I mutter, and reaching into one of my dresser drawers, retrieve a pair of pajama bottoms for him. Long cotton pants. I almost laugh at the thought, as I remember how often we both slept in the nude when we were younger, but that would be inappropriate now.  
He takes them from my hand hesitantly, then stands up. I get another pair of pants and walk to the left side of the bed, which was always my side. Simple rituals, habits that linger on, I suppose. I turn around to let him change clothes, and slip into my own pants.  
When I turn around, we are both standing on our opposite sides of the bed, facing each other, unsure of what to do. I get that familiar ache in my chest, that tightness in my throat, when I recall the nights we'd stumble into bed already undressing each other, the mornings we'd awake and convince each other to simply lie in bed all day. Getting into a bed together didn't use to be such an uncomfortable moment.  
I take the first step and sit on the bed, drawing my legs up in front of me. When I do this, it breaks the spell of our frozen discomfort, and Sirius joins me on the bed, sitting, drawing covers over his body, sliding down so his head lies on the pillow. Then I do the same, and point my wand at the candles to put out the lights.  
I sense him stiffen beside me - "Are you alright?" I ask, worrying that perhaps I should have left a candle lit.  
"Fine." His answer is false and curt. I know he is embarrassed, both at the fact that I know he is now afraid of the dark and at the fact that it is true.  
I can forgive him for this curtness. I was so overjoyed to learn that he truly was innocent, that it was Peter whose name I should have been cursing during those twelve years, that I could forgive him for anything. He lived through Azkaban to keep an oath to Lily and James - he was not the one who betrayed them. He was, in fact, the one who was the most loyal to them.   
There is also much that I have done that I should be forgiven for. I should have known that he was innocent. I should have sensed Peter's betrayal before it got out of hand. What good are lycanthropic senses if I couldn't save the friends who had once saved me?  
"Remus?" His voice is soft and timid.  
"Yes?"  
"I...I should sleep on the couch. I have nightmares." His voice is low. I know that to confess this weakness, to confess his many weaknesses, is a tremendous step for someone who was once so proud.   
Nightmares? Nothing. This was my lover - this was my mate - this was my life, my heart and my soul. "No. You should sleep in here. The bed is softer, you'll sleep better."  
"I don't want to wake you up."  
"It's alright."  
His body is relaxing slightly beside mine, so I go on, "Just rest, Sirius. You need to rest..."  
I can feel my eyes growing heavy, much as I imagine his are. If I close my eyes, I can pretend that we are young again - that the last fifteen years never happened, that we are twenty again, and we are young and strong and brave and in love. And as my eyes are closed, somewhere under the covers my hand meets Sirius's, and we hold hands as we drift into the land of dreams-  
~~~  
I awake very suddenly to the familiar noises of a nightmare. I've had so many, I know the symptoms well: a sluggish thrashing in the covers, a struggling to breathe, a kind of low and frightened moaning. I roll over quickly and put my arms around Sirius, who, true to his word, is lost in the terrible recesses of his mind.  
"Sirius, wake up. Wake up, love, you're having a nightmare," I whisper, holding him still and smoothing the hair back from his damp face.  
His eyes flit open, and it takes him a moment to recognize me. "Remus!" he gasps, and without explanation presses his face to my chest and holds onto me for dear life. He is shaking - and I remember all the nights when Sirius would wake me from a nightmare and hold me while I shook. I remember the nights when there was no one to wake me. So I hold him and stroke his hair gently, and whisper to him until he stops shaking. He falls asleep holding me, and I fall asleep as well - because I am finally where I want to be: in my mate's arms. 


	2. Two

  
We wake in each other's arms in the morning light. I wake first - I am so used to sleeping alone, it is strange to have the changed weight of Sirius's body at last against mine. I open my eyes and see the sleeping face, the troubled countenance, with its cheek pressed to my chest. His arms are around my torso, and mine further encircle him.  
I don't know how long I watch him, but soon his eyes open, and he looks at me with the morning's innocence entwined in the silver. He doesn't move from my chest; neither of us say a word. It is as if an understanding passes between us about the previous night, the comfort that we offer each other by our mere presence, the longing we have for that which we once shared.   
And oh-so-slowly he moves up as I move down, and our lips meet in the gentlest of kisses - a pure, chaste kiss. Just two lips and two souls meeting after such a long absence. And I am lost in the gentle, blossoming kisses that we share, that slowly grow in intensity until I'm not sure I can breathe, and not sure that I ever want to. This is how I want to die - death upon Sirius's lips.   
Finally, we stop, and pull back a little, and just look at each other. I smile faintly, but he does not return the expression. His face and mouth are all solemn and grave, and his eyes are searching. I want him to find what he seeks in me, but this is not the time.  
"Good morning," I whisper, brushing the hair out of his face.  
"Thank you," he replies, and I know he is thanking me for the previous night.   
"'S nothing," I murmur. Silence, as we simply gaze at each other after so long, gold meeting silver. "Are you hungry?"  
"Yeah..."  
"Then I'll fix breakfast. You go take a shower." I grin as I say this, and he finally smiles back at me. "Because you need one," I add playfully.   
"Oh, fine," he says, pretending to be wounded, and something inside of me lights up because this joking is definitely of the old Sirius.   
I roll out of bed rather eagerly - there is a purpose to my movement that I have lacked for nearly fifteen years. First I pull on a t-shirt, then I take a robe out of the closet, one of my largest, thinking it will be long enough for Sirius to wear.   
He guesses my thoughts. "You think I can wear that, Moony?"  
My old nickname - Moony. My heart is lighter than it has been in years. "Perhaps...you have lost a good deal of weight..."  
"But I'm still taller than you."  
"Well, we'll have to get you some new robes, then, won't we?" I smile at him. "For now, though, you'll have to wear this, because your current robe is disgusting. I'll clean it."  
He leans back against the pillow and laughs, and although it is a very brief laugh, I feel like it is genuine. That, too, warms my heart. My Sirius is back, I am caring for him, I have kissed him good-morning and I am cooking him breakfast. All is right with my world.  
When he comes downstairs, I have just finished the coffee. I can smell my shampoo over Sirius's natural scent, and it is oddly pleasing, as though it is something of myself and him combined. "Don't say a word," I hear him call warningly, before he enters the kitchen.  
It is the robe that is embarrassing him now - although it fits him well enough in most places, it is several inches too short in the hem and sleeves. I bite back a laugh and draw out my wand, murmuring a lengthening spell over the fabric until it fits him better. When I stand, we are so close...and he brushes the fingers of one hand against my cheek, and I turn my face to nuzzle into the hand slightly. I see the half-smile play across his lips (lips that I have kissed this morning!) before he turns his attention to breakfast.   
Over toast and jam, eggs and bacon, and of course coffee, which he still drinks black, we discuss different subjects. We seem to have a knack for long, half-awkward silences.  
"Where did you get the house, Remus? You've been here since last year, right?"  
"Right... it was my parents' house."  
"They let you use it? Your father?" It is a valid question - although I got on well enough with my mother, my father had always feared me, detested me somehow for being a lycanthrope. As if I were not really his son any longer after I was bitten.   
I cast my eyes to my plate. "My parents passed away six years ago."  
His face crumples sorrowfully. "Oh, Remus - I'm sorry-"  
"No, it's...well, it was quick. Accident on vacation in Rome."  
"I should have been here for you."  
"How, pray tell, would you have managed that?"  
We stop again, the conversation halted. Then Sirius repeats, "I should have been here for you. You shouldn't have gone through that alone."  
And before I ask how he knows I was alone, I simply know that he knows. We have always had that sense about each other.   
"It's over," I murmur, pushing the eggs around my plate with my fork.  
He takes the hint and drops that line of conversation, taking up another venue. This is a change - the old Sirius would never have taken any hint, he would simply have barreled along the current path until we had faced what was bothering us. I wonder what else has changed about him in the years we have been apart. But I'm not sure how to ask.  
So we talk about other things. "Do you still have Buckbeak?" I ask. Actually, I am rather curious as to where the hippogriff has gone, since Sirius arrived at my house on foot.  
"I asked Dumbledore about it, and he said that if I just let Buckbeak loose near the forest, he would be able to find a herd of hippogriffs and join them." Sirius shrugs somewhat nonchalantly. "He was a fine animal, just picky. All the hiding wasn't suiting him."  
I nod. "And did the hiding suit Padfoot?" I ask playfully, hoping he will play along. It's been a long time since I smiled with someone.  
He does like the joke. "Padfoot was well pleased with all the garbage to nose through and all the mud to roll around in. Sirius, on the other hand, much prefers surroundings such as this."  
"Well, then, I'm pleased."  
"Thank you again for letting me stay."  
This time my smile is a little more meaningful. "Sirius, it's nothing. I'm glad to have you here." I debate whether or not to say anything else, then choose to add, "I've missed you."  
Another correct choice, as he replies, "I've missed you too, Remus." And we smile at each other, and again we don't need any words. We sit in the pleasant silence, until he asks tentatively, "Remus? Do you know... I mean... How are my parents?"  
I bite my lip. I don't want to upset him, but I want to tell him the truth of what little I know. "They were fine the last time I spoke to them... I haven't seen them much since...well, you know."  
Keldon and Sidonie Black had avoided me at all costs. I was sure I was merely a painful reminder of their oldest son's failings and sins. The last time I had spoken to them, per se, was after Sirius's sentencing. I had bumped into them upon exiting the courtroom. Keldon hadn't spoken - he was never sure he liked the fact that his son was gay, and that he had taken a werewolf as a lover to boot. Now I was certainly connected to his moral downfall. But Sidonie had put a motherly hand on my cheek, tears falling down her own face. "Oh, Remus..." she had breathed, but didn't say anything else. I nodded, and we walked away in opposite directions.  
I had, however, kept a few tabs on them. Both of his parents were still alive, I knew, as were his siblings. Sirius had been the middle child of three. His older sister Sariah had married nine years ago. Sebasten, the youngest son, worked for the Ministry now.   
"They're both alive. Sariah married about six years after you were gone." I don't want to say 'after you were sent to prison;' that seems a bit harsh. "Sebasten works for the Ministry. Department of Foreign Affairs and Whatnots, I think."  
"Ministry, huh? Good for him," Sirius says weakly. I'm not sure what he wanted to hear, but this seems to be enough for him. I pray he does not ask about whether I spoke to them after the trial. I want to forget about it all. It dominated my thoughts and haunted my dreams for so long, I just want to enjoy Sirius right now, now that I have him back. "And Sariah's married?" he goes on.  
"Yes, to an Italian fellow. I saw it in the paper. They made a nice-looking couple."  
"Well..."  
The conversation slows again, and we both eat in silence for a moment. When we were younger, Sirius could never be silent. If I was reading, or studying, or simply enjoying the absence of noise, he had to do something to remedy that. Not that I minded much. In fact, when he was gone, I missed it. The silence became nearly deafening for twelve years. It was so good to hear his voice again.  
"What do you want to do?" I ask him as I take my dishes to the sink.  
"Sit on furniture," he replies immediately. "I've been living in a cave for two years, I'm going to drop my arse on a sofa."  
He says this with such solemnity that I can't help laughing. "What?" he asks, half-innocently, half-wryly. "It's the truth."  
I go back to the table and reach for his plate, asking, "Done?" He nods. "D'you want more?" He shakes his head. "More coffee, then."  
He smiles a little, and says, "Yeah, thanks." I knew he would want more - he drank coffee faithfully every morning when we were together. He used to say that there were two things in life he needed to survive: coffee, and me. I wonder if he remembers that he used to say that.  
"Go on, I'll take care of the washing up."  
He takes the coffee and enters the living room, sitting down slowly on the corner of my aging couch. I am using my wand to direct the dishes to cleaning themselves in the sink, but out of the corner of my eye I am watching him. He sits down slowly, closes his eyes for a moment, then opens them again and tucks his feet beneath him. He looks so much smaller than I remembered.  
The morning passes quickly. Sirius is content to sit in the living room, drinking coffee - I suspect he needs the rest more than he lets on. I know he must be tired; he certainly did not sleep well the night before. I take a shower, dress, and join him in the living room, where he has finished with the coffee.  
And, surprisingly, or perhaps not so, we stay there all day. Sometimes we talk, sometimes we are silent. Gradually we move closer - I reach for his hand, he leans his head against my shoulder. We move from sitting side-by-side to lying on the couch. I am turned sideways, with my back to the arm. He fits between my legs, lying with his head on my chest. It is the happiest I have been - the happiest I suspect either of us have been - in many, many years. 


	3. Three

  
I want to curse the fool who said 'all good things must come to an end.' Because it is true.  
Sirius has stayed with me for three days, and those three days have been the happiest hours of my life. The years at school when I was a Marauder, and the years afterwards when Sirius and I lived together, pale in comparison to these past hours. Those years were full of an innocent happiness, a pleasure that had not known dark times. These days have been like coming back up for air after drowning, like hearing music again after going deaf. I have been whole again after being denied my mate for over a decade. I have been alive again.  
And now he must leave.  
He tells me this quietly, on the fourth morning, while we are drinking coffee. He does not look me in the eye. His voice is low.   
And when he says those words - "I have to go" - I can literally feel my heart breaking. It hurts to breathe, hurts to look at him, but I cannot tear my eyes away from his bowed head, and I cannot stop my breath.   
"Go?" I repeat dumbly.  
"Yes," he says. Then he looks at me. There is pain in his eyes, but a hardened resolve. Sirius is stubborn - this I know. There will be no changing his mind, no pleading my case. But I have to try.  
"Why?"  
"Because I've got things to do. Things I have to do. I have to look after Harry-"  
"You're lying, Sirius," I say bluntly. "I can smell it." And I can - even when I am not Changed, lycanthropy heightens my senses. I can smell that he is not being entirely honest. "Tell me the truth. Why won't you stay?"  
His face is sad - no, not sad. Bitter. "Because I can't. There's too much happening-there's too much to do. There's going to be a war soon, Remus, and this time the Ministry isn't on our side." His words are quick, his reason rushing. "And you're a werewolf - and I'm a fugitive. And if they find me here, they'll be harder on you than on anyone else, Remus..."   
What happened to the days when we were in it together? I want to ask. But there is only the deafening silence.  
Then he goes on, "And if I stay with you any longer, I may never be able to leave."  
My world is spinning around me - nothing quite makes sense. "What do you mean?"  
"I mean that...if I stay with you, now, and we...well, start again...that would be a mistake. It can't happen right now." He pauses while I stare at him, stupidly. "Things have been bad for me, Remus," he continues, a little more softly. "And no matter how much we want it, this just - it would be a mistake."  
A mistake. Being reunited with my mate, the other half of my life, heart, and soul, would be a mistake. I lean forward a bit, prop my elbows on the table and rest my head in my hands. I have to think. I have to tell myself this logic. Sirius is right. This cannot happen now - this would be a mistake.  
While I am logically telling myself this, my heart is shattering within me.  
"I'm sorry if I've upset you," Sirius says, watching me but not reaching out to touch me. "But it's the truth."  
'Touch me!' I want to scream. 'Feel how much I need you! Don't you know I am dying without you?' But instead I say, "No, you-you were honest, I can't ask for anything else."  
We sit in silence for long moments. I cannot even cry. I feel as though I am already dead inside.   
"When are you leaving?" I finally ask.  
"Tonight."  
~~~  
The day passes in silence, uncomfortable and anxious and upset. I do not know what I am doing, what either of us are doing. I go about in a daze. If having him here was like coming up for air after drowning, having him leave will be like sinking beneath the waves. My strength will be gone, and I will drown.  
He leaves with nothing but two robes - the one he arrived in, which I mended, and the one of mine I magicked to fit him - and the wand I bought him. "I'll pay you back for it," he says, but I stop him.  
"No, it's a gift, Sirius." My voice is hollow.  
He must know that I am dying inside, because he puts one hand on my cheek like he did that first morning, and says softly, "I'm so sorry, Moony."  
"No. You said it yourself - no matter how much we want it, it would be a mistake."  
Sirius's eyes have an odd glimmer to them as he says, "You believe that I want it, don't you?"  
I sigh. "Yes, I do." Then I close my eyes. "That doesn't make it any easier."  
Sirius's hand drops away, and we stand for a moment, close but not touching. Finally, I open my eyes, and ask haltingly, "If...if times were different...if this wasn't a mistake...what-what would happen?"  
He gets a faraway look in his eyes, even though he is looking at me. "I... I'd like to get to know you. Because it's been so long - because we've both changed so much. And..." His voice cracks slightly. "And we'd fall in love all over again."  
And I know, instantly, that I should not have asked that question. This is the killing blow - the fact that we know we should be together, but are choosing not to be.  
I want him to stay. For my sake, he has to stay. I try to think of reasons to keep him here: he needs to relearn the spells, he is not fully recovered from Azkaban yet, it is too dangerous for him to be out because he is a fugitive. I think of reasons I want to keep him here: because he is my mate, because I want to hold him and make love to him so badly, because I need him and he needs me. But I do not - cannot - speak.  
We do not say 'I love you.' We do not kiss. We simply embrace, very quickly, very tightly, before he opens the door. I want to scream and cry for him not to go. But I watch dumbly as he says, "Thank you for everything, Remus."  
He watches me for a second before I say, faintly, "Goodbye, Sirius."  
"Goodbye..."  
He is gone. So is my will to live.  
~~~  
Four days later, an exhausted owl caught up with a large black dog in the surrounding forest. He carried a brief, scrawled letter. The dog accepted the parchment, but it was a man who read the letter, and a man who mourned its contents.  
It read:_  
My Dearest Sirius,  
I hope this letter finds you safe and well-hidden...  
You asked me once, before we were lovers, about my scar - about the night I was bitten. I trust you remember my story. So you understand, I also know something about being imprisoned. Only I could never be free.  
Please understand that this is not your fault, not in any way. You were simply the one who made me finally understand the truth of the matter - that this is the time for the end.  
I am not doing this out of cowardice, or revenge, or selfishness, or anger - but out of desperation. I am doing this because there is nothing left for me to do. There is such a thing as 'quality of life,' and my life has none. My universe consists of pain and loneliness, and I cannot live that way any longer.  
I know you are ready to fight, but I am not - I don't know what we are fighting, or why, or even what we are fighting for any more. And I know I would not be of much use to you now. I cannot live any longer with this pain, this loneliness, the meaninglessness - I cannot live any longer without you.  
The worst curse of lycanthropy is not the change, or the pain, or the isolation - it is the mating for life. I am bound to you forever, Sirius, whether I choose it or not. When you were in prison, I could exist simply because I had a reason to hate you. You had betrayed me, you had betrayed us all, and while I still loved you, I hated you for what you had done to us. But now that I know the truth, that you were in fact the most loyal and perhaps the best of us all, I cannot hate you any longer. It is killing me to live without you, to know that we are separated by a logical choice we both have made. And I cannot go on without you.  
Wolfsbane, the key ingredient in the Wolfsbane potion I take monthly, is a powerful herb; in its raw form, it is painlessly fatal to lycanthropes. So the Wolfsbane that confines my mind in the wolf's body every full moon is the same thing that will set me free now. And I will be free - and in a way, you will be too. You won't be bound to me any longer.  
Fight for what you believe in. I know you are strong. And take care of Harry - he is our future. You are so much more than I ever was.   
Now I am free, Sirius. And I hope that one day, you will be as well.  
I love you.  
Remus_  
As the man wept, the silence around him was deafening. 


End file.
